


Feelings? Me? Never!

by NyxErchomai



Series: Can We Keep Him? [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Friends With Benefits, fitz is a giant dumb, idk what else to tag this with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxErchomai/pseuds/NyxErchomai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation from Part 5. Fitz is still in denial about his feelings for Simmons. </p><p>An awkward situation, a conversation with resident psychologist Phil Coulson and an uncomfortable undercover-as-a-couple operation serve to shed light on a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feelings? Me? Never!

The night they rescue Coulson is the first time Fitz has sex with Simmons since the whispered ‘I love you’ scared him away. Granted, a lot happened immediately following that incident, and sex didn’t really seem appropriate, but it still seems like a milestone when he slithers out of Simmon’s bed just after two in the morning without feeling the need to murmur confessions in the general direction of her sleeping form. He thinks, maybe, he’s moved past his moment of weakness. He laughs it off as he climbs into his own bed, chides himself for being silly enough to think he was _falling in love_ with Simmons. Preposterous.

At breakfast Fitz feels nothing when Simmons’ fingers catch his as she passes him the butter. And he reckons it’s a good sign when she breezes past him in the lab and he catches a whiff of her shampoo and all he thinks is that whoever invented strawberry-scented conditioner was a goddamn genius. By that evening he’s convinced that his “feelings” were nothing but a passing whim. He’s been having sex with Simmons for _years_ and he’s never been bothered with feelings, and it’s not any different now.

With Simmons that night, Fitz is so consumed with proving to himself that his train wreck of an emotional state was just a bizarre anomaly in his otherwise clinical relationship with Simmons, that he blurts “I don’t love you” just as Simmons pulls him down for a kiss. There’s an instantaneous bubble of regret blossoming in his chest, and Simmons is frozen underneath him. She’s got her fingers entwined in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist, and yet it feels as if there is a gaping chasm between them, and those four words bouncing around, getting louder and louder in the ensuing silence.

“That was a bit… I don’t know why I said that,” he mumbled quietly, and without another word they simultaneously disentangle themselves. Simmons’ face is unreadable, which is surprising given her inability to hide her emotions, but Fitz is struggling to keep his own mortification under wraps. He’s such an idiot, what the hell was he even _thinking_? Unable to think of anything even remotely acceptable to say, he does what any good self-preservationist would do. He stands, dresses, and leaves. Simmons says nothing.

*~*~*

“We’re going to have to go undercover.”

Fitz decides right then and there that those seven little words are his least favourite words in the world when strung together in that order. He _hates_ going undercover. The last time he went undercover, he nearly got blown up. “Going undercover” is not what he signed up for.

Coulson has already moved on when May interrupts. “Who will be going undercover? Ward’s still bruised, and you’re obviously not capable of going out in the field yet. So who. Me and Fitz?” Fitz can feel his insides shrivelling up.

“No,” Coulson replies, only mildly irritated that he was interrupted. Fitz slumps in relief. “No, it’ll be Fitz and Simmons.”

Fitz thinks he might cry.

*~*~*

Coulson calls them in to explain the mission, and Fitz is extremely conscious that he and Simmons are sitting too far apart, angled away from each other, and that Coulson is speaking over the awkward silence in the room. Fitz watches Coulson closely, waiting for it to click, waiting for him to notice that the two people he’s sending in undercover to play a couple are currently unable to look each other in the eye.

It’s a simple operation; Fitz and Simmons will go in, pretend to be a couple at the lavish and extremely well-publicised charity ball, find the target, apply the GPS gel, attach another tracking device to a computer, and then get the hell out. It’s simple, really. They’ll be making a landing to pick up an outfit or two, and will then spend the next two days preparing for the mission. Coulson wraps up the outline and Fitz has barely stood up when he realises Simmons has already left the room.

Coulson turns away, and Fitz takes the plunge. “Sir?”

Coulson turns. “Yes, Fitz?”

Fitz clears his throat. “If you – say you said something to someone, and you… I don’t know, hurt their feelings or offended them, and you wanted to – to take it back…what would you do?”

Sitting on the edge of his desk, Coulson looks as receptive to this conversation as May does to passionate bursts of emotion. “Just apologise to Simmons, Fitz.”

Fits covers up his discomfort with a nervous laugh. “Simmons?” he chuckles, clearing his throat again. “I – what makes you think I’m talking about Simmons.” He scoffs, tries not to look like a deer caught in the headlights when Coulson raises an eyebrow.

“There was enough tension in this room just then to suffocate someone,” Coulson says sardonically. “That is, someone who cares. Deal with your problems. If they sabotage this mission, then you’re gone. We’ve talked about this.”

Fitz swallows thickly. “I would never let my personal relationships get in the way of my job,” he says weakly. Coulson seems as convinced as Fitz feels.

“Sort it out,” he says, and Fitz heeds the warning and the dismissal, and leaves.

*~*~*

Simmons looks amazing. It’s not difficult, she’s beautiful on a normal day, but today she looks magnificent. Her hair is twisted and pinned, leaving it falling over her shoulder in waves, and she’s wearing more pronounced make-up than usual. It accentuates her eyes, and the deep red of her lipstick matches her dress. And what a dress it is. Skye picked it out, much to Simmons’ dismay, but it looks like it was made for her. It falls off of one shoulder, tight across her chest, cinches at the waist and falls to the floor in a silky, shimmering wave of material. She’s wearing heels, which does nothing to help Fitz’s esteem, and a necklace with a diamond droplet pendant hangs around her neck. He swallows heavily when he sees her, and greets her with a quiet hello and a mumbled “you look beautiful”. Despite the past several days, she smiles back, and fixes his tie.

“You look dashing,” she replies, and he thinks for a moment that maybe they can move past the incident.

But then Simmons turns away, and when she looks at him next he feels like she’s punched him in the gut with how indifferent she looks. In a moment of clarity, he feels all the pain of having the most beautiful woman he’s ever known be completely indifferent to him. And he realises he hates it.

He waits until they’re in the limousine on the way to the ball, when the atmosphere in the car is so thick with tension that he could choke on it, to speak up.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he says, and Simmons looks at him blankly for a moment. He’s struck by the urge to elaborate, but he’s acutely aware that the others can hear what he says. “For what I said. I – I was confused.”

He hates that he can’t tell what she’s thinking, but the set of her mouth is nothing he’s seen before, and her eyes are like opaque glass. After a moment, she looks away, and the limo descends into silence once more.

*~*~*

The ballroom is filled with the wealthy and the renowned, and Fitz feels out of place as soon as he steps out of the limo. His tuxedo is well-tailored and sleek, but that doesn’t stop him from interpreting every glance directed his way as a scrutiny, a judgement. He’s an engineer for God’s sake, he wasn’t _made_ for balls and tuxedos. Simmons’ arm is looped through his, and she glides along beside him as if she was born to be here. He wonders when she got so good at acting, and figured it was the same time she learnt how to hide her emotions from him.

They speak to no one except for a small waiter who offers them hors d'oeuvres and tall glasses of sparkling champagne. Simmons declines, but Fitz instructs the waiter to remain close by as he quickly and efficiently cleans the platter of everything edible. The waiter says nothing, but his mouth turns up slightly in amusement. When Fitz has eaten his nerves away, the waiter scurries away, and Simmons abandons her stony silence momentarily to arch an eyebrow at him.

“Are you finished?”

Fitz nods. “Yeah. Where’s the guy?”

“Hansard is over by the door,” Ward suddenly says into his ear. Fitz twitches slightly in surprise, but manages not to jump. He glances over to the entrance, and sees the short, beefy man greeting people. He’s bald, and unattractive, and he’s wearing a beige tuxedo that clashes strongly with his ruddy complexion. He looks nice enough though and, after a moment, Fitz and Simmons make their way towards him.

The conversation is quick, but not painless. Simmons plays the “unhappy with her partner” trick, and begins flirting with Hansard. She’s stilted, awkward, but Hansard seems to find it endearing. Fitz seethes, and is thankful that his role in this charade is perfectly suited to his annoyance. He knows, rationally, that when Simmons drapes an arm over Hansard’s shoulder and strokes his neck that she’s applying the tracking gel, but it still makes Fitz’s stomach turn watching her touching Hansard like she so frequently touches him.

After a few moments, they gently detach themselves from the conversation, and when Fitz retakes Simmons’ arm, he tells himself it’s with the appropriate display of jealous annoyance. And if he doesn’t let go until Hansard is immersed in a conversation, then that’s just part of the act, right?

The computer is much faster to woo, and within seconds Fitz has attached the inconspicuous chip that Skye will later use to hack into Hansard’s system. Afterwards, Ward mutters something about mingling, and Fitz wishes he could stab himself just to get out of this hell.

For an hour or so they mingle which, for Fitz, involves a lot of eating in place of actual conversation. Simmons carries it, laughing along with the shallow comments of other female patrons, giggling and batting her eyelashes at the men, and making up for Fitz’s sullen silence. The command to leave that comes from Ward is music to Fitz’s ears, and he can’t get out of there fast enough. Simmons pauses to thank Hansard, and Fitz spares a smile before nearly-running out of the building.

“What the hell was that?” Ward hisses in his ear when they are in the limo. “You ran out of there like it was a crime scene!”

Simmons hears it, too, and her mouth tightens. Fitz scowls, and pulls the earpiece out. “Shut up,” he mutters angrily.

Simmons takes her own earpiece out after a moment. “They’re gone. Disconnected.”

It sounds like an invitation, but it takes Fitz a moment to catch on. When he does, it still takes him several minutes to finally say what he’s thinking.

He sighs deeply. “Are you angry?”

“Angry?” Simmons asks, and there’s a bite to her voice that he can’t ignore. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because I – what I said was really rude, and uncalled for and – and,” he chokes on the words as they bubble to the surface because he’s _not ready_.

“And what?” Simmons asks coldly. “You thought you regurgitating the agreement we made would hurt my feelings? For God’s sake Fitz, we _agreed_ to no feelings! We came into this _promising_ that it was just sex, for fuck’s sake. So, no, I’m not angry that you told me you didn’t love me while you were fucking me. I’m not angry that you decided to tell me how you felt while using my body to get off. Anger would imply expectations, Fitz, of which I have none.”

Fitz gulps. “So…why are you angry?”

Simmons sighs. “Because you walked out, Fitz. You ran away. You fled the scene, like you’d committed goddamn _murder._ And the only thing you did was prove to me that you’re incapable of acting like an adult when it comes to your feelings.”

“F-feelings?” Fitz splutters, and his self-preservationist instinct kicks in. “I’m not – what – I mean-”

“Oh, shut up,” Simmons says breezily. “You’ve been in love with me for years Fitz, you were just too thick to figure it out until a few weeks ago.” Fitz is flabbergasted, unable to say anything, so she ploughs on. “And even then, you couldn’t even _admit_ it to yourself, could you? I bet you spent days, probably even _weeks_ telling yourself it was just a whim or a moment of weakness, didn’t you? I wouldn’t even have minded if you told me, because it’d mean you were mature enough to handle emotions.”

“I can handle my emotions!” Fitz blurts. “I’m not _afraid_ of my feelings, I didn’t run away from them.” He’s indignant now, defensive. “I ran away from _you_ , because you were always so adamant that there couldn’t be any feelings, that it was a sex-only arrangement. You never made it seem like you wanted to take it any further, like you cared about me more deeply than just for sex. I was afraid because I didn’t know what you would think!”

Simmons rolls her eyes. “If you knew anything, you’d know that I’ve loved you since the start, you _idiot_.” She seems amused when Fitz is shocked into silence. “Oh, of _course_ you didn’t realise.If it took you that long to figure out your own feelings, we’d be old and grey before you figured out it was mutual.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Fitz asked meekly.

Simmons smiled. “Because the girl always caves first, and I won’t stand for that trope-y bullshit. I’d have taken it to the grave if you hadn’t spent so long bemoaning the natural progression of a relationship.”

Fitz makes a noise of indignation. “You let me suffer because of “trope-y bullshit”?! I was terrified that you’d hate me!”

“That’s because you’re a drama queen,” Simmons sneers, smiling slightly. “And I enjoyed watching you angst over me.”

“You’re a monster,” Fitz declares. “A terrible human being!” But he’s laughing despite himself, because there’s a bubble of warmth in his chest, and he keeps hearing _I’ve loved you since the start_ repeated in his head. “So…you don’t hate me?”

“No, obviously not. But don’t think I’m suddenly going to leap into your arms, and that we’ll prance off into the sunset. That won’t happen. Not until you prove to me that you’re not going to run from your feelings anymore.”

The limo lurches to a stop, and the door opens just as Fitz opens his mouth. Coulson is there, eyebrow raised, and the conversation is put on hold.

They transfer themselves from the limo to a nondescript black van and, as they’re sitting between Skye and Ward, there’s no way to continue the discussion until later.

Fitz sneaks into Simmons’ room later that night, and she turns over to glare at him. “I told you-”

“I’m not here for that,” Fitz says, waving his hand. He sits on the end of her bed. “How am I meant to prove to you that I’m taking my feelings seriously?”

Simmons rolls and then sits up. “I think it’s a sign of emotional immaturity that you need to ask me that.”

Fitz can’t tell, but he thinks she’s smiling. “Alright,” he huffs. “I’ll prove it to you. I won’t run away again.”

“You better not,” Simmons’ threatens, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Or I’ll throw you out of this plane and not even Ward will save you.”

**Author's Note:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! thanks to the latest ep for giving me the motivation to write this part. tune in whenever i next get motivation to find out how fitz is gonna woo his bonny lass! 
> 
> thanks for reading :)


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